


hell or high water

by sincerelyreidburke (poindextears)



Series: Kiersey College OC-Verse [11]
Category: Kiersey College (Webseries), Original Work
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Childhood Trauma, Deaf Character, Family Issues, His grandparents suuuuuuuuuuuuck, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Audism, Kiersey College, M/M, Maria Hernandez for Mom of the Year, Phone Calls & Telephones, Quinn Cooper's elaborate web of lies comes crashing down in his face, Quinn's childhood trauma surfaces, Rejection, Sebastián Hernandez Is A Good Boyfriend, T for heavy subject matter, That's it, that's the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28601691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poindextears/pseuds/sincerelyreidburke
Summary: For college junior Quinn Cooper, "home" is a subjective term. In its strictest sense, home, for him, is his grandparents' house in Michigan, where he's lived under their guardianship for years. But to maintain that roof over his head, Quinn has to lie— about nearly everything in his college life. When those lies come undone at the point he least expects it, all he has left is his boyfriend— whose love feels closer to home than anything Quinn has ever known.
Relationships: OMC/OMC, Sebastián "Nando" Hernandez/Quinn Cooper
Series: Kiersey College OC-Verse [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878397
Comments: 22
Kudos: 24
Collections: Kiersey College





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> That summary is wordy, and for that, I am sorry. Here's what's going to go down: I'm finally going to show you why Quinn winds up in Arizona. If you want "Quinn in Arizona" content, click [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24199399/chapters/58297189#workskin), [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24199399/chapters/58375156#workskin), [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27826648/chapters/68730696#workskin), or even [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26064361#workskin).  
> Now we take a look at exactly what lands Quinn there. A very important warning: this fic is about Quinn being disowned. This is a spoiler, yes, but also kind of obvious if you've read my other content. There's blatant homophobia from his grandparents, as well as subtle referencing to past abuse, childhood trauma, and a generally bad upbringing. I need to warn you about these things up front, because this is very much a story about one of the hardest experiences Quinn goes through in college.  
> Also, this fic takes place DIRECTLY on the heels of [this fic I wrote for my holiday series](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27826648/chapters/68164285#workskin), so if you want to treat that one as a prequel of sorts, so be it.  
> Because I don't do angst without a payoff, this will end in comfort. Obviously. Quinn has a boyfriend who loves him. But first, you have to see him go through some shit. Please take care of yourselves, and read with discretion. <3

_ junior year  _ |  _ november _

_ thanksgiving day — thursday, 11.26.2020 _

The first phone call, Quinn truly, honestly misses.

He’s performing when it happens— goodness, how could he pick up, when he’s performing? His phone is far from him, and he isn’t thinking of who might be calling him. Who might be seeing him, on TV.

Oh, sure, perhaps it crosses his  _ mind _ for a moment or two. Perhaps it does occur to him that being on national television, in a famous holiday parade, is a very public and confident thing to do when you’re actively hiding things about yourself from certain people who know you. But this parade, this particular performance— this is far from the first time Quinn has done something and neglected to disclose it to his grandparents. He went on a tour with a professional production, for goodness’ sakes. When they invited him to perform this Thanksgiving, what was he to do? Say no?

Quinn bypassed the point of no return  _ long _ ago, when it comes to his lies. He barely thinks of them as lies— instead, he regards them as self-preservation. The parade is a mere piece of the puzzle, and he thinks nothing of it. Until he checks his phone, after the performance, and feels his high interrupted by what sits in his lock screen, atop his wallpaper photo with Sebastián.

_ Opa & Oma — Home _

_ Missed call, Thursday, 11:13 AM _

*

His first mistake— or, maybe, just another mistake in the pile of them— is ignoring the call. The thought of returning it, just after the performance, while he’s surrounded by castmates he calls friends and full of good feelings— that’s far too much for him. So he waits.

He misses the second call, organically, as well. It comes later that same afternoon, while he’s eating Thanksgiving dinner in the cramped but cozy booth of a city diner with Sebastián. He doesn’t notice it until after they leave the restaurant, and set out for a stroll on the city streets.

_ Opa & Oma — Home _

_ Missed call, Thursday, 3:02 PM _

The third call, though, he ignores on purpose. He’s back in their hotel room when it happens, relaxing on the bed while Sebastián takes a shower. His phone starts buzzing in the middle of a texting conversation with Maggie, to whom he’s relaying the details of his exciting day. She’s in Baltimore, at her grandma’s house with her dad and brothers for Thanksgiving dessert.

_ Oma & Opa — Home _

_ Incoming call, Thursday, 5:32 PM _

Quinn’s stomach turns over. He knows, full well, that three phone calls in one day can’t be good. He knows that Oma and Opa probably saw him on TV, and no doubt, they have a million questions. For all they know, he’s supposed to be spending Thanksgiving by himself, at Kiersey, alone in his dorm room, the way they think he spends the majority of his college free time.

Goodness, they don’t even know about the acting.

But Quinn can explain this. He knows he won’t get to find out what this call is about unless he picks up the phone— Oma and Opa don’t text, don’t even have phones; they place all their calls from the landline in their house. He’s sure they’re confused— and that must be why they’re calling. He certainly has some explaining to do, and he’s sure he’ll be able to create a story that adequately explains it all.

But— as his phone rings, Quinn looks out the hotel window, to the sea of buildings beyond it. For the next three days, he’s in New York City, with the most lovely boy. They have the entire weekend to themselves, just him and Sebastián, and it’s been a dream come true since the moment they arrived.

Something tells Quinn that picking up this call would bring his mood down significantly, and today has been one of the most fun days of his life.

He can explain this. He’ll talk to Oma and Opa. Just not right this instant. He’s already missed two of their calls anyway— they’ll be upset about that no matter what, so he may as well make up some story about his phone being broken. In the meantime, he’ll enjoy his weekend, and he’ll try to figure out how to piece together the least damning explanation for why they saw their grandson dressed up as a German schoolboy and singing in the Thanksgiving Day Parade.

Later on, Quinn will call himself naïve for believing he’ll be capable of explaining away his lies, of calming his grandparents down. But right now, he doesn’t see that. Right now, he wants to keep enjoying his Thanksgiving weekend. So right now, Quinn lets the call ring out, then goes back to texting Maggie.

*

_ Opa & Oma — Home _

_ Missed call, Thursday, 7:12 PM _

*

_ Opa & Oma — Home _

_ Missed call, Friday, 8:44 AM _

*

_ friday, 11.27.2020 _

On Friday morning, he says something to Sebastián.

It’s a lazy morning, and they spend it in bed, while a mildly sized snowfall blankets the city outside their hotel window. Quinn is, for the most part, completely content. He’s warm, and resting under some very nice hotel room bedding, in the arms of the most lovely boy. It isn’t until he checks his phone for the first time all morning that his grandparents even cross his mind at all; he’s been doing a good job of keeping them out. He has a new missed call, and though he clears the notification from his lock screen, he sighs as he slips his hearing aids on, then rolls back over into Sebastián’s bare chest.

Unceremoniously, he announces, “My grandparents have been calling me.”

“What?” He knows Sebastián looks right at him as he says this, but he keeps his eyes on the ceiling for a moment. “Like— you mean this morning?”

“Yesterday and this morning,” he replies, and sighs again. He looks down to meet his eyes, and remarks, “They must have seen me on television.”

“Oh, baby,” Sebastián breathes, his concern apparent even in limited words. Quinn knows, somewhere deep in his subconscious, that he, too, should be concerned. But he so badly just wants this weekend, this one nice thing, before he has to talk to them. “Should you talk to them?” Sebastián asks.

Quinn takes a moment, before he responds. He huddles himself close into Sebastián’s embrace, and tries to sound as calm as possible when he tells him, “I don’t want to.”

“Well—” Sebastián hesitates, and Quinn knows he’s being difficult. “Well, okay, but if they’ve called you multiple times…” The concern in his voice deepens. This is part of the reason he’s taken almost a full twenty-four hours to  _ tell _ Sebastián about the calls— because he knew he’d be worried. It probably would have eased Sebastián’s mind if Quinn left out telling him about the calls altogether, but Sebastián is the only person on this earth Quinn has never been able to bring himself to lie to. They share everything with each other, and always have. Where it’s easy, and necessary, to put his guard up around everybody else, Sebsatián is his safe haven. Quinn couldn’t keep this from him— it would never sit right with him. Even knowing it would concern Sebastián, there was never any option but to tell him.

“Honey,” Quinn murmurs, lifting his head to his eye level, “I know what you’re saying. I assure you, I do. I just…” He takes a second, and smooths the messy curls out of his boyfriend’s face. “I wanted to enjoy our weekend together.”

Sebastián is quiet, then; it seems he’s thinking. “Baby,” he murmurs, and for the moment, doesn’t elaborate. Quinn understands it’s a tough topic, because it always has been, with his grandparents. On the one hand, he knows he lies to them far too much. His entire  _ existence _ , through their eyes, is only part of the truth. On the other hand… those lies are the only thing keeping him safe under their guardianship. They’re the only reason they pay for him to go to school, the only reason they house him. He has to be a quiet, unassuming, obedient young man, who doesn’t cause them any unnecessary trouble, and doesn’t do anything shameful. It’s the only way they’ve ever tolerated him.

Quinn can fix this. He knows he can fix it. “I have a plan,” he tells Sebastián. “Would you like to hear it?”

Sebastián nods, though there’s still worry in his eyes. “Sure thing, baby.”

Quinn tucks himself close to him, and wraps his arms around his waist. This room feels like a shelter, a space where they’re safe from whatever might befall them outside. Then again, anyplace with Sebastián feels safe. It’s not so much the space they’re in that makes the difference— it’s Sebastián himself. Sebastián feels like home, in a way where Quinn finds that feeling nowhere else in the world.

“I’m going to tell them my phone was broken,” he begins. “And if they have questions about the acting, well— so be it. But at this point, I’ve ignored four calls from them. They’ll already be upset over it, and it’s best if I wait.”

Sebastián looks a little dubious, but he nods. “You think they’ll believe you?” he says. “That your phone was broken.”

“My love, they don’t even have phones.” Quinn shifts a little. When Sebastián runs a big, steady hand at the small of his back, it’s easier to relax. “They have no idea how they work.”

This part, he knows, is true. He pays for his own cell phone— bought it with his own money, from his high school part-time job. Oma and Opa are staunchly anti-cell phone, and would believe him if he said his were broken. They’d have to believe him.

“You’re sure you want to wait?” Sebastián says finally. He brings a hand up to his face, and Quinn leans his cheek into his palm. “It won’t make you anxious?”

“No,” he says, like maybe telling Sebastián he isn’t worried about it will reduce his chances of actually being worried about it. “It won’t. And I’m sure I can explain myself to them.” He pauses, before adding, “Just not quite yet.”

“Okay,  _ cariño _ ,” Sebastián says, and Quinn can see the resignation in his eyes— he’s most definitely still worried, and Quinn feels terrible for worrying him, but this is the best way to do things. Quinn knows it. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” Quinn assures him, and then leans close to him on the pillow. “The only thing I want right now,” he says, pressing up against his nose with his own, “is to continue enjoying this weekend with the man I love.”

Sebastián smiles a little. “I think he might be able to help you with that goal,” he mumbles.

“Well,” Quinn says, and kisses him gently, with a smile of his own. “That’s good news.”

He doesn’t regret choosing to enjoy that morning with him. Not even a little.

*

_ Google Search results for: quinn cooper _

_ Quinn Cooper is an American actor, best known for his role as Moritz Stiefel in Deaf West Theatre’s 2020 touring revival of  _ Spring Awakening _. His performance as Moritz has garnered critical acclaim. Cooper is a student at Kiersey College in New Hampshire, where he is active in the school’s nationally ranked dramatic arts program. Cooper has also made news for his relationship with one of the captains of Kiersey College’s Division I men’s ice hockey team, Sebastián Hernandez. _

_ instagram.com > cooperquinn _

_ Quinn Cooper @cooperquinn • Instagram photos and videos _

_ 12.5k followers, 541 following, 313 posts - See Instagram photos and videos from quinn🌈🌷🧏♂️ (@cooperquinn) _

_ twitter.com/cooperquinn _

_ quinn cooper🌈🌷🧏♂️ @cooperquinn • Twitter _

_ an absolute dream come true to perform at the #ThanksgivingDayParade with these lovely people. [1 photo attached] … More Tweets _

_ Twitter • 1 day ago _

_ broadwayworld.com > people > Quinn-Cooper _

_ Quinn Cooper Bio, Photos, Theatre Credits, Stage History - Quinn Cooper made his professional debut in Deaf West’s Spring Awakening. He has performed with the Kiersey College drama department since 2018… _

_ playbill.com > person > quinn-cooper _

_ Quinn Cooper | Playbill _

_ Roles (1) - Deaf West’s Spring Awakening…  _

_ Awards (2) …  _

_ espn.com > ncaa > news > archive _

_ ESPN College Hockey — Big East Player Making Waves For Equality _

_ 08 Nov 2020 _

_ KIERSEY, NH— Kiersey College has long held a reputation for the successes of their Division I teams. This year, an alternate captain of the men’s hockey team is hoping to add inclusivity to that reputation. Sebastián Hernandez, 20, is an up-and-coming NCAA household name… _

*

_ Opa & Oma — Home _

_ Missed call, Friday, 12:22 PM _

*

_ Opa & Oma — Home _

_ Missed call, Friday, 4:01 PM _

*

_ Opa & Oma — Home _

_ Missed call, Friday, 7:37 PM _

*

_ Opa & Oma — Home _

_ Missed call, Saturday, 10:29 AM _

*

_ Opa & Oma — Home _

_ Missed call, Saturday, 2:16 PM _

*

_ Opa & Oma — Home _

_ Missed call, Saturday, 6:42 PM _

*

_ Opa & Oma — Home _

_ Missed call, Sunday, 9:54 AM _

*

_ Opa & Oma — Home _

_ Missed call, Sunday, 3:31 PM _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another content warning: more of the same. This chapter contains the actual bad stuff— chapters 3 and 4 are the fallout. Take care of yourselves, friends, and have fun reading about this very un-fun event in Quinn's life!

_ monday, 11.30.2020 _

Quinn waits until Monday.

By then, he’s racked up a total of thirteen missed calls. He knows, by Monday, that this is not going to be good. He knows his grandparents are going to be angry, and he’s prepared to deal with that. It isn’t as if this would be the first time they were angry with him. He’s lived under their roof since he was in eighth grade, and he’s grown well accustomed to the looming threat of their irritability. The stress of dealing with Oma and Opa, of walking on eggshells as not to upset them or cause them too much of a bother, is part of Quinn’s existence. Only since coming to Kiersey has he learned what life is like without that stress. Because of these phone calls, the stress has followed him to school. By returning their call, and providing them with an explanation as to what took him so long to do so, he’ll be able to stamp that stress right back into the box it belongs in, and keep everything neatly in its place. To be sure, they might be upset with him. But they’re nearly 800 miles away, and from 800 miles away, they can’t hurt him. They can yell, but they can’t lay a hand on him. Quinn can handle yelling, can handle anger. He’s confident in himself.

And he stays confident, right up until getting on the phone.

When he places the call, it’s after his classes are over for the day. It’s a gray, chilly day at Kiersey, and he plans to spend the rest of it indoors, if he can help it. He has no obligations tonight— no drama club meetings, no managerial duties for the hockey team. He does have a bit of homework, but that’s manageable. He figures a free afternoon and evening is the perfect time to be shaken by his grandparents’ anger.

Quinn has a plan. He can handle this. So he shuts himself in his cozy room, turns on the string lights over his pride flag on the wall, and takes just a minute to meditate with a few deep breaths before he picks up his phone. He dials the landline number for the house, then, as it rings, eyes a few of his Polaroids on the wall— a smiling, handsome Sebastián at the apple orchard, a selfie with Kyra in costume from tour, the cast selfies from  _ Dear Evan Hansen _ and  _ Chicago _ .

Quinn breathes deeply. He can do this. There’s a solution for everything.

When the line connects, he only has a moment to panic. Opa’s voice is right there, and icy cold. “So your phone wasn’t broken.”

“Opa!” he says, and rocks forward on his mattress, steadying his tone, maintaining the picture of calm. “Goodness, I’m so sorry. My, ah— my phone charger, it broke this weekend? I was only just able to retrieve a new one, and—”

“Would you cut the shit with the lying already, Quinn?”

Quinn’s soul leaves his body.

He freezes, with his eyes on a Polaroid of himself kissing Sebastián’s cheek. “Lying?” he manages to get out, before he can be quiet long enough that it’s suspicious. “What— ah, what do you mean?”

“You know damn well what I mean,” Opa replies, in a fed-up tone Quinn knows well. It’s the same tone he knows when Opa is ranting about politics, or pissed off at Oma for not getting dinner on the table fast enough, or reading Quinn the regularly scheduled riot act about how they’re doing him a favor, and he needs to behave himself, because if it weren’t for their charitability he’d have spent high school in foster care, even though the state forced the guardianship on them, but you’re not allowed to say that while they’re telling you they’re doing you a favor, because you’ll wind up with a bruise on your face—

Quinn takes a deep breath. He’s caught off-guard when he realizes he’s shaking, and that breathing isn’t that easy. “I can explain,” he says, and prays Opa will let him.

“Well, good, then,” Opa says. “Why don’t you.” It’s not pleasant compliance. It’s a demand. It means  _ start talking right now _ . Quinn is about to start talking— he has something planned, about how the performance was a program through school, and he wanted to tell them but didn’t know how— but his throat is dry, and it gets so much more infinitely worse when Opa adds, “You can start by telling me who Sebastian Hernandez is.”

“I— beg your pardon?” Quinn’s heartbeat is in his throat. He may be about to be sick, in fact. The anger, he was prepared for. The ill-pronounced mention of Sebastián’s name, completely out of nowhere, he most certainly was  _ not _ .

Oma and Opa aren’t supposed to know Sebastián  _ exists _ , much less have an inkling of his relevance in Quinn’s life.

Because a relationship with a boy is much,  _ much _ more dangerous of a secret than the acting will ever be.

“Don’t you play dumb, boy,” Opa says, and Quinn winces; he is right back in their kitchen in Michigan, being chewed out for asking Oma to repeat herself when he didn’t hear her ask him to wash the dishes. Except this, somehow, is worse. This is so much worse. “Funny thing, isn’t it?” he says. “We saw someone who looked an awful lot like you on the TV for the Macy’s parade, but that couldn’t have been right, since you were supposedly at school for Thanksgiving.” Quinn feels ill. “So we decided to look up your name.” Quinn feels so, so ill. “Aren’t there a few things you forgot to tell us?”

Oh,  _ gosh _ . Oh,  _ fuck _ . Quinn tries to breathe. He is so much more royally screwed than he could ever have possibly imagined.

“Um,” he says, and tries to gather his thoughts from their spiral of panic. “I— um, I suppose there are, yes.”

“Right.” Opa is  _ horribly _ calm, like he’s already processed all of his anger, and has entered some kind of acceptance stage. Quinn feels just the opposite, as he sits there, on his bed. He huddles himself into a ball, and holds a shaking hand to his face, and can’t breathe. “So it seems like your little college life over there is a lot more eventful than you ever said it was.”

Fuck.  _ Fuck _ . Quinn takes a handful of his hair. He can’t remember the last time he panicked quite this hard. “I’m sorry, Opa,” he tries, and, mortifyingly, he can hear the despair in his own voice. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t think you’d understand—”

“Well, we understand,” Opa replies, quick as a whip. “We understand that you’ve been letting us think you’re there to get an education, when in reality you’re living a double life as a—” His next word stabs like a knife. It’s not the first time Quinn has heard someone say that terrible word, but it’s the first time it’s ever been directed at him.

“I’m not a—” he stammers, but desperate as he may be, he cannot bring himself to repeat what Opa just said. “I’m not—” he tries again, and squeezes his eyes shut, shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he says, and hopes that’s enough.

It’s not. Of course it’s not. How could an apology be enough, when his careful, stressful sense of order is collapsing around him? “Well, I’m glad you’re sorry,” Opa replies, “but you have to realize how unacceptable this is, right? We took you in, Quinn. We gave you a perfect opportunity to turn your life around, and you choose this instead.” An opportunity, they call it. As if they were the ones who applied to Kiersey. As if they got him a scholarship. As if he forced them to fund his education. As if a college education and a roof over his head coupled with endless guilt-tripping, criticizing, manipulating, and yelling is something he should be grateful for.  _ We took you in,  _ Opa says, but they didn’t. He was forced upon them. He was always a burden. He was never going to be anything more than a burden. And they’ve never let him forget that, not once.

“You throw it all away, and you lie to us about everything,” Opa says, and then scoffs, like he’s trying to get a bad taste out of his mouth. “You’re your father’s son, Quinn.”

Quinn hasn’t seen his father since he was five, but this hurts most of all. Oma and Opa disowned his father. They cut him off entirely. Quinn has no idea where he is. It’s another reason they use to guilt him— he’s a walking reminder of the failure who was their only child.

He doesn’t even stop to think about the  _ implication _ of this statement until it’s too late. Oma and Opa never mention his father, for a reason. He thinks it’s a jab at him, a way to make him feel awful, but it’s so much worse.

Because the next thing Opa says is, “We called the airline and took care of your plane ticket.” This, for a second, is confusing. Quinn’s ticket to Grand Rapids, for the upcoming winter break, got purchased way back in October. What would there be to ‘take care of’?

But Opa does him the service of clarifying. “Don’t bother coming here,” he says. “For your Christmas break. You won’t be welcome.”

“Don’t—” Quinn goes over that in his head a few times. “Don’t come there?” he echoes, and feels suddenly like he’s living in some surreal dream, that this isn’t real life. “But—” He swallows. His throat is still dry. “But I live there.”

“Not anymore,” Opa replies, very matter-of-factly, like this is a matter of paying some bill and not of what Quinn thinks he’s implying. “Don’t worry; we called your school and took our names off your account. Your grandmother was very generous; she put your things in the mail. They should reach you in a few days.”

“I—” The world is moving around Quinn in slow motion. “I don’t understand.”

“You’ve crossed the line, Quinn,” Opa says, simply. “You’re twenty years old; it’s time to find a place of your own. You won’t be living here anymore.”

“A place of—” He feels his own voice falter before he can even finish. “A place of my— Opa, I can’t afford a place of my own.”

“Maybe you should’ve thought that through before you decided to go against all of our values,” he replies.

Quinn can’t breathe, and can’t speak, either. Opa’s words echo in his head.  _ It’s time to find a place of your own. You’ve crossed the line. _

“We’ve paid our dues, Quinn,” Opa says. His voice has returned to the ranting tone, the angry tone, and it cuts, it punches, it bruises. “We’ve put up with too much as it is. You dug yourself a hole, and now you have to sit in it.” He sounds more than angry— he sounds  _ disgusted _ . Quinn is going to be sick. “After all we’ve done for you.”

He’s speechless. He’s frozen. What is there to say? He can’t lie his way out of this. He can’t even process it thoroughly enough to realize everything that this entails. All he can do is sit on his bed, and stammer, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m glad you’re sorry,” Opa replies. “But you’re on your own. We have nothing more to say to you.”

“Where—”  _ Fuck _ . He wills himself to breathe. “Where am I supposed to go?”

“That’s up to you,” Opa says. “I hope you’re happy with your choices.”

Quinn knows he should say something. He knows he should say a  _ lot _ of things— there’s so much that he could say. But all of it gets caught in his throat, and he still feels like he’s in some kind of dream, and he doesn’t come up with anything before Opa tells him, “Don’t call this number again,” and finally, “Goodbye, Quinn.”

The line goes dead, and Quinn is alone.

It’s  _ then _ that it all starts to sink in, at once— and then that he doubles over, with his whole body shaking, and cries.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here's the "comfort" part of hurt/comfort. I even gave you some Ben Shaley!!! Last chapter tomorrow.

After classes finish for the day, Nando walks back to Beech Street with Ben.

It’s been their fall semester routine, on Mondays and Wednesdays. His Social Statistics class, in the Moore Building, lets off at the same time as Ben’s History of Architecture I class, in the arts and design center across the way from Moore. So they meet, on the sidewalk outside, and take a stroll back to Beech Street— sometimes stopping along the way at the Bluegrass Café for a pick-me-up. Today, they both deem the pick-me-up necessary, because it’s cold as fuck outside and it sounds like a good idea. Ben gets a white hot chocolate, and Nando  _ almost _ feels like getting an iced drink, but decides he doesn’t feel like having a chill for the rest of the day, so a gingerbread latte with a warm cookie from the bake case does the trick. Two café orders richer, they set out for Beech again.

“What’s on the agenda, big man?” Ben asks, elbowing him as they go. “You free for the day?”

“Eh… almost.” Nando sips his latte. It’s a work of actual art. “I’m supposed to study with Katie from Soc 350 at seven, but other than that, yeah, I guess.” He glances at his phone. He hasn’t heard from Quinn in a couple hours, but he and Quinn don’t text through the day while they’re on campus, so he doesn’t think much of it right then. He does want to know if he’ll join for dinner, though. And whose room they’re shacking up in tonight. He’ll text him when he gets back to Beech. “How about you?” he asks Ben.

“I’m hostage,” Ben replies. “Three hours of Drawing Composition, baby.”

Nando actually  _ knew _ that Ben had that class on Mondays, but grimaces anyway. “That sounds fun.”

“I mean.” Ben shrugs, and flashes a classic, snarky grin. He has a ton of flyaways from the bun his hair is in, because it’s windy out. “The guy who sits next to me is hot, so.”

“Oh. Right.” Nando grins back at him, with a knowing nod. “So that makes up for three hours in the same seat.”

Ben bumps his shoulder. “You’re just jealous of the insane amount of game I have.”

Nando laughs, openly, and rolls his eyes. “Sure, yeah. Let’s go with that.”

Back at Beech Street, most of the house’s lights are on, and the indoors is welcome and warm. Marc is watching TV in the living room, but other than that, everything is pretty quiet— X, Remy, and Sam are all in class, and Jordy is probably upstairs in his room. Nando takes the stairs two at a time, while Ben is trying to fight him about NHL results. “All I’m saying is we’d smoke you on home ice.”

“Oh, fuck off, dude,” Nando laughs. “You’re just mad that Halák shit his pants in net. It’s not his fault, really. He doesn’t stand a chance against Phil the Thrill.”

“Phil Kessel is  _ past _ his prime, Nanny,” Ben replies, as they reach the top of the stairs. “You wanna know how I know that?” He jabs his finger into Nando’s chest. “Because he signed with the fucking Yotes, that’s why.”

Nando laughs harder. “Fuck  _ you _ . You don’t get to talk about players being past their prime.” They part ways at Nando’s bedroom door, but he keeps calling through their bathroom as Ben walks into his own. “You wanna talk about being past prime? How ‘bout Chara?”

“Chara is a living legend,” Ben calls, from the other side of the bathroom.

Nando snorts, as he tosses his backpack onto his desk chair. “Rho, Zdeno Chara belongs in an old folks’ home, not on the ice.”

“That’s ageist,” Ben says. “You’re perpetuating ageism. Chara got an assist last night.”

“Yeah, but you still lost!” Nando keeps laughing at him, as he pulls his phone out of his pocket again— but then, in his peripheral vision, he sees something he should’ve seen before. His bed… is suspiciously not empty. Like, there’s a lump on it. A human-sized lump, wrapped in the comforter. With a little bit of strawberry hair poking out by the pillow.

“Fuck you,” Ben is saying. “At least I root for a team that actually has fans.”

Nando pauses, as he looks at his bed. Quinn is clearly asleep— because if he weren’t, he’d already have started bitching them both out for being so loud. It’s far from the first time Quinn has spontaneously showed up in his room— Quinn is practically an honorary resident at 84 Beech Street, with the amount of time he spends here. Nando just— well, he’s surprised, because Quinn isn’t really the ‘nap in the middle of the afternoon’ type.

“Nan?” Ben calls, still from his own room.

“Uh, yeah— sorry, I just—” Nando laughs a little, then, over his shoulder in Ben’s direction, says, “I just realized Quinn is asleep in my bed.”

“Oh, shit.” Ben’s voice gets a lot lower. “Did we wake him up?”

“Jesus— he’s deaf, dumbass; of course we didn’t wake him up.” Nando laughs at Ben a little more, then looks back to the sleeping Quinn. He’s facing the wall, and Nando can see that he’s wearing a blue KMH sweatshirt he must have stolen from the closet.

He must be exhausted, Nando realizes. They had a really, really busy weekend in New York— and an amazing one, but still, traveling is busy. Even  _ he’s _ tired, and he isn’t the one who went there to perform in a parade. So that’s probably why Quinn is taking a nap right now.

Nando shrugs. He thought that he wouldn’t see him until later, so this is a nice surprise. He won’t wake him, though— he’ll just do homework, and wait awhile.

“Anyway,” he calls back to Ben, and unzips his backpack. “The Bruins are trash.”

“That’s falsified information,” Ben replies. “Their record this season disagrees with you.”

“Their record against the Yotes doesn’t,” Nando chirps, and pulls his social stats textbook out of his backpack while Ben groans. Being a Bruins fan is Ben’s toxic trait. He’s lucky Nando— and the rest of his friends— forgive him for it.

Ben settles down after that, and goes mostly quiet in his room. Having his best friend right across a bathroom from him is honestly the best, and only got better when Remy finally got a Beech room, too, at the start of this year. In fact, all Nando’s best friends on campus live in this house. Except Quinn, but then again, Quinn really does spend a lot of time here.

Nando sits down at his desk, cracks his stats book, and gets a jump start on his homework while he lets Quinn nap in peace.

*

It takes Quinn a moment, when he wakes up, to remember where he is.

It’s warm in Sebastián’s bed, and familiar, too— not to mention comfortable, with the added benefit of Sebastián’s hoodie wrapped around him like a warm hug. It all smells like him, too— it always does, in here, and it’s an added comfort. He has no idea how long he’s been sleeping.

Only after he’s opened his eyes, and taken in the fact that he  _ is _ in Sebastián’s bed, does it all come rushing back at once. The call with Opa. The afternoon he’s had. The overwhelming  _ everything _ that he has to take care of, because they’re cutting him off, he’s on his own, he has  _ nowhere to go _ —

Quinn rolls over, and faces the ceiling. It’s then that he realizes that he isn’t alone. Sebastián is back from class, and doing homework at his desk. He must notice when he moves, because he spins to face him in his desk chair, and signs hello, with the world’s warmest, most handsome smile. He’s wearing his dark red Coyotes hoodie, the one that’s just his color, and it looks lovely on him. Everything about him is beautiful, from his messy curls to his bright eyes to his brown skin. He’s backlit by his desk lamp, like a halo.

All at once, Quinn wants to cry again, when he was certain he’d cried himself out already.

Sebastián keeps signing.  _ How was your nap?  _ he asks. He signs slowly, relatively speaking, but quicker than he did when he was first starting to learn. Quinn sits up, and for no reason at all— or maybe every reason, all at once— he can’t hold back the tears that well up in his eyes.

He loves this boy so very much. Very literally, Sebastián is all he has.

When he notices he’s crying, Sebastián’s entire expression changes. In a second flat, concern etches across his brow, and he lunges forward, gets out of his chair, comes to the bedside.  _ Are you okay?  _ he asks.

Quinn sobs into his own hand. He wishes he could even begin to answer that question.

Sebastián doesn’t need words, though. He acts without them, because he may not know what happened this afternoon, but comfort is in his nature. He rushes over to the bedroom’s two doors— one out to the hall and one to the bathroom he shares with Ben— and shuts them both. When he gets on the edge of the bed and scoops Quinn into his arms, it’s easier to cry openly. Quinn collapses, and holds onto the only person in the world who has ever stayed.

He isn’t sure how long it’s been since Opa hung up on him. Hours, maybe. It’s dark outside Sebastián’s bedroom window. His head is killing him, and the tears won’t stop coming, and he can’t stop being thrown back into memories he wants no part of.

Nowhere to go. He has nowhere to go. He has little money to his name, and winter break is in two weeks, and he has  _ nowhere to go _ . Will Kiersey let him stay here? He has no idea— but even if they did, they’d probably charge him extra for the room and board, extra money that he  _ doesn’t have _ , because he can’t pay the tuition of this school all on his own, even  _ with _ his scholarship, and—  _ fuck _ , he has nowhere to go.

Sebastián holds him tight, and he only asks one question, when he goes to wipe a mess of tears from his face. He pulls his hands away to sign for just a second.  _ Did you call your grandparents? _

Quinn nods, and chokes out a pathetic, small sob, and Sebastián’s eyes fill with even more sympathy.  _ Oh, baby _ , Quinn sees him say, but not sign, and then he wraps him right back up again. It’s a tight squeeze, and Sebastián pulls him all the way into his lap this time, and the pressure and closeness are both extra comfort— enough to ground himself on, but not enough to keep him from crying. He doesn’t know how to begin to process what’s happening to him. He doesn’t know how to begin to  _ say _ it.

So he stays in Sebastián’s arms, and he cries.

He has no idea how long they stay like that; he only knows when Sebastián pulls back a second time. It’s not a forceful thing; he eases his hands away gently, and Quinn can tell before he even says anything that he’s only doing it to sign. Quinn looks up to him, and wipes at his face with the back of the sleeve on the hoodie he stole. Sebastián’s signs are careful, but clear.  _ Do you want a cup of tea? _

Quinn takes a moment, and then nods. It’s a small thing, and yet it sounds like it would be nice right now.

So Sebastián kisses his forehead, and then picks up his hand to squeeze it three times. Quinn squeezes back.  _ I love you _ , that gesture says. It will never change.

_ I’ll be right back _ , he promises, as he’s leaving, and Quinn nods. When he’s gone, Quinn tries to take a long, deep breath. It comes out a little shaky, but he feels, for now, that he’s dried out his tear ducts. He feels the absence of Sebastián’s embrace— he always does, after a long time being held comes to an end. He wants that feeling back, as soon as he can get it.

Alone in the room, he puts his hearing aids in, one at a time. When he turns them on, he doesn’t hear much— just Beech Street’s typical white noise. It’s not comforting in the slightest, but Sebastián’s voice, when he gets back, will be.

Quinn breathes. He rests his elbows on his knees, and his face in his hands.

Here is what he knows:

He has a few thousand dollars to his name, and tens of thousands in tuition to find a way to pay.

He has a pair of grandparents, who were his reluctant guardians, who never want to see him again.

His possessions from Michigan are in the mail, few as they are.

He lied his way into this disaster.

He has two weeks until the flight he was supposed to take to Michigan leaves Boston, and he won’t be on it, because he can’t go there anymore.

Which means he has two weeks to find a place to stay for the holidays. And next summer. And any foreseeable period in the future of not being at school. Until he graduates. And drowns in the debt from the loans he’ll have to take out to stay at Kiersey.

Two weeks. Winter break is in two weeks.

Above all else, this: he has nowhere to go.

By the time Sebastián gets back to his room, Quinn has spiraled himself close to crying again. Sebastián closes the door behind himself, balancing a steaming, teal-colored mug Quinn got from Remy for Christmas this past year, as he walks back across the room. “Here, baby,” he says, gently, as he seems to take note of the fact that Quinn is now listening. “I put a lot of honey in there.”

“Thank you,” Quinn whispers, and hates the way his own voice sounds— weak, strained, only halfway there. He takes the mug from Sebastián, and takes a long sip as he settles back down onto the mattress next to him. Sebastián winds his arm around his waist, and Quinn lets the tea course through his system. It’s delicious. Sebastián knows just how he likes it.

He puts the mug down, on Sebastián’s nightstand, before he dares speak again. He looks up to him, once that’s done, and meets Sebastián’s patient eyes. When he turns to face him on the mattress, Sebastián holds him steady, by the waist.

He might be the only thing keeping Quinn steady right now.

He knows he’s waiting. He owes him an explanation. He owes him that much.

So he takes another deep breath. His voice is only shaking a little. “I—” he begins, and has to try again. “Sebastián, I got kicked out.”

With the words out in the air— his first time putting it plainly, even in all the thinking over it he’s done since that phone call— he feels his tears well up fresh again. Sebastián, meanwhile, blinks, and all the concern and sympathy on his face multiplies by a million. “Baby,” he whispers. “Oh my God.”

“I know,” he breathes, and he isn’t sure he’s felt more pathetic, in his entire life, as the words pour out of him. “And I’m sorry—  _ gosh _ , Sebastián, I’m so sorry; you were right, I should’ve just— I should’ve called them back earlier—”

“C’mere,  _ mi rey _ . C’mere.” Sebastián is quick to wrap him up again, and he rocks him just a little, and there’s no other place Quinn wants to be right now than his arms. “They— kicked you out for not calling them back?” Sebastián asks.

“No— no,” he stammers, and sniffles, as Sebastián smooths his hair across his forehead. “No, they kicked me out for—” He swallows. He can barely say it. “For being me,” he amends, and then sniffles some more.

“Jesus, baby,” Sebastián whispers. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“I have—”  _ Goodness _ , he feels like he’s being completely hysterical, and he’d be completely fucking mortified over it if it weren’t only Sebastián who were witness to it. “I have nowhere to go, Sebastián; I— I don’t know what I’m going to  _ do _ ; I have—” His breath catches in his throat. “I have  _ nowhere _ to  _ go _ , Se—”

“ _ Shhhh _ , baby,” Sebastián soothes, and this feels, for a moment, like waking up from a nightmare, like the handful of times in the middle of the night Sebastián has seen him too shaken and caught in his head to remember how to breathe. His comfort is exactly the same. He’s a rock to hold onto. He’s the only steady thing. “I’ve got you, okay? I’m right here, baby. I’ve got you.”

“I have nowhere to go,” he repeats, and it sinks in all over again as his mind reels over it. “They told me they were done with me—”

“ _ Shhhh _ ,” Sebastián says. “I’ve got you.”

Sebastián is here. He isn’t letting go. Quinn has to ground himself in that, if nothing else.

He buries his face into the shoulder of the red sweatshirt, and listens to the only voice in the world worth hearing.

“I’ve got you,  _ mi amor _ ,” Sebastián says, and for the first time maybe ever in his life, Quinn comes completely undone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally, the last bit.

It’s just around dinnertime when Quinn falls asleep.

Nando doesn’t realize, at first, that he’s fallen asleep again. He holds him for a long while in his lap, then lays him down. Eventually, they’re laying side-by-side in his bed, and on Quinn’s request, he rolls to press against him, for the sensory input. Nando wraps his comforter around him, and whispers to him— mostly just affirmations, that he’s here, that he’s got him, that he loves him. He stays close, and Quinn holds onto him. He doesn’t let go.

He feels so fucking awful for Quinn that he can’t do more than he’s doing, at this moment. But when Quinn falls asleep, Nando thinks,  _ finally _ — because he’ll get a break from his despair, and rest awhile.

He kisses his forehead, just lightly, and then very carefully reaches to flick his hearing aids off and take them out of his ears. They agreed, somewhere around their relationship’s six-month mark, that Quinn was comfortable with that, with Nando taking his ears out if he accidentally fell asleep; he was hesitant to do it otherwise. He rolls over to return them to their case, then takes a long look at the boy resting in his bed.

_ God _ . That’s his baby.

Quinn’s freckled face is tear-streaked, red and blotchy beyond its usual, ruddy flush. His hair is messier than he’d keep it on a normal Monday, and the hood of Nando’s KMH sweatshirt is over his head. He has his sweatshirt paws pulled up to his face, and he looks more peaceful in sleep than he has all afternoon.

Nando wants to cry. But how stupid is that— that  _ he _ wants to cry, over something that didn’t happen to him. He doesn’t like to use the word ‘hate,’ but in this moment, watching Quinn sleep in his bed, having witnessed the past hour of his hurt and trauma, Nando is pretty sure he hates Quinn’s grandparents. He’s never met them, but he will never be able to understand how someone—  _ anyone _ — can reject their own family like that, for selfish, ideological reasons.

He pulls his comforter up to Quinn’s chest. He can’t stop hearing Quinn’s teary voice in his head.  _ I have nowhere to go, Sebastián _ . In the whole two years of their relationship, he’s never seen Quinn distraught like that. He’s barely ever seen him cry— a few tears here and there, for sure, and a couple of nightmares and difficult moments. He’s cried onstage before, too. But this? This was a whole new thing. This was hurt like he’s never seen before on his boyfriend. Quinn is the strongest person he knows, and he just— he’s  _ ruined _ right now, and completely understandably so.

Nando’s heart is breaking for him.

The world outside his room feels far away right now— so he jolts a little when he hears a car horn, somewhere relatively distant, beyond his window. It’s pitch black outside, and has to be dinnertime. He doesn’t feel even a little hungry, and doubts Quinn is hungry, either. When he wakes up, Nando decides, he’ll try to get him to eat something. But who knows when he’ll wake up? He could just sleep through the night. Maybe that would be good for him— to sleep that long. Nando knows he has class at eight tomorrow morning. And a meeting with the drama club board, and there’s morning practice tomorrow, and—  _ God _ , Quinn isn’t going to feel up to any of that.

Nando has no idea what he can do. He feels two seconds away from crying over something that didn’t even happen to him firsthand. He can’t believe Quinn cried like that— can’t believe this is happening to him.

Nando looks at his phone. He has KMH group chat notifications, Snapchats from Raf and his cousin Gloria, and— oh, crap— a couple of texts from Katie from Soc 350.

_ iMessage _

_ Katie SOC350 _

_ 6:44 PM _

_ Katie: Hey ! Are we still on for tonight? _

_ Katie: Where do you want to meet? _

_ Katie: Hello? _

He sighs, and sends her a quick text back. He feels bad he didn’t warn her, but at the moment, he also gives literally zero fucks about meeting up to study for a test that isn’t even tomorrow. Katie is nice and everything, but he can barely think about class.

_ 7:01 PM _

_ Me: i’m so sorry!! something came up and i can’t make it _

_ Me: can we try for another night? _

He’s about to put his phone away, after that— but right before he closes out his iMessage app, he spots his text thread with Mama. He had his daily call with her this morning, at ten Kiersey time and seven Tempe time, while she was on her way to work. He talked about the trip home from New York, and she told him a funny story about Tio. It was a completely normal call— because at ten this morning, this was a completely normal day.

It’s four o’clock now. Mama is home from work. Gabi is in dance class, and Rosa is probably doing her homework.

Nando looks to Quinn, who is, thank God, still sleeping, and for the moment, free from his hurt. He won’t say a single word about this to anyone here until Quinn feels ready to say what happened, whenever that is, however long it takes to be ready. But right now— God, right now? Nando needs to talk to his mama.

He looks over his shoulder, toward the bathroom. He knows Ben is in class until 7:30, and Ben always gets food at Bluegrass after his Monday night class— so his room is going to be vacant for the next little while. He keeps the door open to his room when he crosses the bathroom, and dials for home, flicking the light on in Ben’s room.

It rings only twice. When Mama picks up, she sounds like she’s in a totally normal mood. He feels a little bad, only for a second, that he’s about to bring it down. “Hello?”

“Hey, Mama,” he says, and lets out all his breath at once. He switches to Spanish, and presses his forehead into his palm. “Sorry— are you busy?”

“No,  _ mijo _ . Just making dinner.” Right away, she sounds concerned— which means  _ he _ must sound upset. “What’s wrong?”

“Uh…” How to even begin? He tries a deep breath, and stares at the opposite wall of Ben’s room. He has a bunch of band posters up, and a Providence Bruins one, with a bunch of the team’s autographs. There’s a Rhode Island state flag on the wall where his bed is, and he keeps a mini pan flag in his desk pencil holder. There are also shoes. All over the floor. Three pairs of Vans, running sneakers, dress shoes for gameday, slides. Jeez, Ben. Pick up your footwear.

It’s not enough to focus on. His mind falls right back to the way it felt for Quinn to cry in his arms like that. He has to get it out. “Sorry,” he tells Mama. “I just— um, something happened to Quinn.”

“What?” The alarm in her voice reaches new heights. “Is he okay?”

“He’s— safe, yeah,” Nando replies. “He’s not sick or hurt or anything.”

“What’s wrong?” Mama repeats. “You sound—”

“Upset, I— yeah. I know.” He leans on one of Ben’s bedposts, and makes another earnest attempt at taking a deep breath. “Um— Quinn’s, uh— his grandparents? They saw him on TV in the parade on Thursday.”

“Oh?” Mama pauses. She knows some about Quinn’s situation in Michigan, all because Nando has told her. While he hasn’t told her everything, he’s told her enough. “And… what happened?”

All at once, Nando realizes how close he is to crying. He’s held in his tears for at least an hour now— however long he’s been comforting Quinn. “And—” he says, to Mama, to get the explanation out all in one piece, to rip the band-aid off— “And they, uh, they kicked him out, Mama. They told him he’s no longer welcome at home.”

Mama takes a second, before she speaks again. When she does, her voice is raised a little— part shock, part anger. “ _ What _ ?”

“I know.” Nando sniffles, and— oh,  _ shit _ , he really  _ is _ crying now. He isn’t embarrassed, because it’s just Mama, but he really,  _ really _ doesn’t want Quinn to see him crying. He’s safely asleep in his bed, still— Nando can see, through the bathroom, that he hasn’t moved— but he turns away anyway, and wipes his face before he can get too teary. “They just, uh— well, I guess they called him? And they told him they’re, uh— like, not paying for school anymore, and that he can’t stay with them anymore, and— I think, uh— I think he knew they’d be angry? If they found out? But—”  _ Fuck _ . He’s crying, and now he can’t stop. “I didn’t, I mean— I don’t think either of us really expected—”

“My God,” Mama whispers. “Sebastián, that poor boy.”

“I know,” he cries, and sniffles again. His voice is all stuffed-up and ugly. “I feel so awful, Mama; I, like— I don’t know what to  _ do _ , I mean— he’s more upset than I’ve ever seen him, and—”

“Be here for him,” Mama replies, firm and decisive, just as she always is. “Just be there,  _ mijo _ . He’s dealing with more than you can imagine.”

“I know he is.” He uses the end of his sleeve to blot at his cheek. “I know, and— like, I feel so terrible; I’m so angry with them, and he— Mama, he has nowhere to go? He doesn’t even have the money for an apartment. He’s—” He catches the word  _ homeless _ before it comes out. He knows it’s technically true, but he can’t say it out loud.

“Oh,  _ mijo _ ,” Mama murmurs, and for a moment, she’s quiet. “I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to tell me you’re—”

“I’m sorry for Quinn,” she interrupts, then adds, “And I  _ am _ sorry for you. You’re feeling so terrible for him. I can’t imagine— to go through that…”

“I just—”  _ God _ , Nando is a mess. He’s so fucking selfish, too, for being a mess— he’s not the one who’s supposed to be a mess right now. He’s the one who’s supposed to be strong. He’s just glad Quinn isn’t seeing this part, glad it’s only Mama to witness. “I want to take it away from him,” he tells Mama. “All of it. I want— I just want to keep him safe.”

“He  _ is _ safe, Sebastián,” Mama says. “You’re with him, aren’t you?”

“I’m in the next room,” he replies. He hiccoughs, and wipes his nose. “I— I can see him. Sleeping, I mean.”

“Sleeping,” she echoes. “That’s good. Rest will be good for him.”

He thinks, for a second, that he’s gotten his crying under control— and then, like a wave, it comes back again all at once. “I just, he— he has nowhere to go.” He swallows, but it’s no use. “I love him. I want him to be okay, and I’m so— I’m  _ scared _ , Mama. I’m so scared for him.”

“Sebastián,” Mama says, evenly. “Breathe,  _ mijo _ . Just for a moment.”

So he does breathe— and it’s hard. But he gets himself to a steady pace, uninterrupted by tears or sobs. He keeps his eyes locked on Ben’s P-Bruins poster, and tries to read the signatures, like it’ll keep him grounded. Most of them aren’t legible, but when are signatures legible anyway?

Mama is quiet, on the other line. He thinks she’s thinking, and wonders if she’ll have advice— if she can help, somehow. If she’ll know what to do. She does kind of have a track record of always understanding, of always knowing.

He loves Quinn more than anything, and in this moment, he’s at a loss.

“Sebastián,” Mama says, then. “Can I ask you something?”

He sniffles, but doesn’t tear up again. “Yeah.”

Mama takes another second before she says, “You love Quinn very much.”

It isn’t a question— or at least doesn’t sound like one. He’s nodding before she even finishes. “With everything I have, Mama.”

Her next words are an actual question. “And you plan to marry him, don’t you?”

He nods even still. She can’t see him, but he wishes she could. “As soon as I can,” he says, which she knows. She’s known it from the start, because she was the first person he told when he knew Quinn was the one.

“Good.” Mama takes another really long pause before, she says, in that same firm, resigned tone, “Then bring him home.”

Nando blinks at Ben’s wall. He holds his phone a little tighter, as he processes what she says.  _ Bring him home.  _ “Home?” he echoes. “To Tempe?”

“Yes, Sebastián,” Mama says. “Bring him home. If you know he’s your forever, then bring him home. He can stay with us.”

Nando takes a handful of his curls, and tries to think out what she’s saying. Quinn has been to his house before— once, this past summer, when the  _ Deaf West  _ tour was in Phoenix. It’s when he finally got to meet Mama and Gabi and Rosa, in person. It was the best few days of Nando’s summer.

But—  _ bring him home _ . This means something much bigger than a quick, chance visit. If Mama actually wants him to do what she’s saying— that means Quinn will  _ stay _ with them. Over the winter break. They’ve always planned to move to Arizona after graduation, but this is— this is  _ right now _ . This is Nando’s own house. This is his mama, telling him to invite the boy he loves with all his heart into her own household.

“Mama, are— are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” she says. That’s one thing about Mama— when she makes a decision, she never goes back on it. “You love him, and he has nowhere to go,” she says, like it’s obvious, like there’s no other option. “He’ll stay with us.”

“Mama,” he says, and now he’s crying again. This time, it feels a little less miserable. “I’m— thank you. Thank you so much.”

“There’s no need to thank me,” she says. “You tell him he’s welcome here, Sebastián. That boy deserves to have a roof over his head. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Nando sniffles. He thinks he might be smiling. This won’t solve everything for Quinn— not by a longshot. But it’s an answer to what he kept saying, over and over—  _ I have nowhere to go. _

Nando’s home is somewhere. Mama is giving him somewhere. They’ll welcome him home. He’ll be safe. He’ll be right there with him. He’ll be loved.

It’s something. That’s something.

“Okay,” he breathes. He has to stop crying. “Okay, Mama.”

“I love you,  _ mijo _ ,” she says. “And you love him. So bring him home.”

*

Quinn wakes up not too long later. Nando thinks he must be exhausted— emotionally, for sure, but also physically, from all the sporadic sleeping today. He might not sleep well tonight, and that’s alright. Nando will be here for him, if he doesn’t.

He gets a granola bar from his snack box under his bed, and manages to find an apple in the kitchen. It’s not exactly a well-balanced dinner, but it’s something, so he puts both things aside for Quinn. While he sleeps, he sits next to him in bed, and goes online to look and see if his flight home is sold out.

It isn’t. The tickets that remain are kind of expensive, but Nando is sure he could pull it off. Anything to get Quinn on that plane. Anything to get him home, safe and sound. To get him to somewhere he’s wanted, somewhere he’s loved.

Mama texts him, after they get off the phone. He tells her he’s with him, that he’s waiting for him to wake up. Nando is still checking flight prices, and trying to figure out the money, when Quinn stirs beneath him.

Nando looks to him, and puts his phone down. Quinn rolls over, sits up, and rubs his face. He groans a little, but for the moment, his eyes are dry. He thumps his forehead right against Nando’s chest, and collapses his weight against him. Nando is glad to hold him up.

While he does, he reaches back for Quinn’s hearing aids, and hands them to him so he can put them in. When he has himself situated, Nando starts gentle, with a small voice. “Hey,  _ mi amor _ .”

Quinn lets out a long breath against his chest. “Hello,” he murmurs. He sounds completely drained, completely unlike himself.

“I got you a snack,” Nando says, and motions to the apple and granola bar. “I know it’s, like, not a lot. But you should eat something. At some point.”

Quinn looks up to him. He’s still not crying, but he has this small, concerned frown. It’s similar to his grouchy frown— grouchy Quinn is cute, with an upturned, pointy nose and a flush in his freckly cheeks— but this one isn’t exactly grouchy. It’s more worried. “Did you eat?”

Nando shakes his head. He rubs the back of his neck. Quinn is very warm, which is probably better than if he were cold. “I’m not that hungry.”

Quinn makes a small noise. He pauses, then hangs his head. “Neither am I.”

“That’s okay, baby.” He smooths the swoop in his hair for him. That’s one of Quinn’s little habits— he fixes his hair all the time. It’s messy now, not that it matters. “You can have it when you get hungry.”

Quinn chuckles, bitterly, and says, “I’m not so sure I will.” He stops, then, and takes a deep breath. It’s good that he’s not crying— but  _ God _ , the amount of hurt in this boy’s eyes right now. “Sebastián,” he whispers. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” Nando replies, and then he can’t hold it in any longer. He takes Quinn’s face in his hands, and says, “Baby.” He traces a small trail of freckles down Quinn’s cheek. He tries to put as much emphasis, as much intention, into what he says next as he possibly can. He tries to harness Mama’s firm, decisive nature. He meets Quinn’s blue-green eyes, and leans close to him. “Come home with me.”

A lot happens, on Quinn’s face, in the next few seconds. He blinks, and then squints, and his nose twitches just a little. “Come— home with you?” he echoes.

“Yeah.” He cups both his cheeks in his hands. “I talked to my mama. Our basement’s a spare room. You can stay there.”

“What?” Quinn breathes, but the word is barely even there. His eyes are welling up again, and he shakes his head, just slightly— not like he’s declining the invitation, but more like in disbelief. “Sebastián.”

“We can get you on my flight,” he adds. “You can stay with us. We’ll— I mean— I haven’t figured out all the details, but it doesn’t matter. Just—” He moves his hands, to hold his waist instead. “Come home with me.”

“Sebastián,” Quinn repeats. “Are you— are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure about anything, baby.”

Quinn is quiet, for a second. Then he throws himself forward— and Nando is receiving what might be the tightest hug of his life. Given he and Quinn squeeze each other all the time, that’s a feat— but Quinn is holding onto him like he’s never going to let go.

Nando doesn’t want him to.

“Thank you,” he’s saying, over and over. “Thank you, thank you.” He’s a little teary when Nando sees his face again, but not like before. “I love you, honey. I— thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Nando tells him, and holds on tight. “I love you,” he adds, for good measure. He’s said those three words to Quinn a million times. They’ll never be less important.

Quinn is shaking, a little, in his arms. Nando holds to him for a minute more, and then pulls back to grab his hand. Three squeezes in a row. Quinn returns them. Nando looks him in the eye.

“Hell or high water, baby,” he tells him. “Where you go, I go.”

Quinn sniffles, and puts his free hand to his heart. “Me, too,” he says. “Always.”

It feels a little like a vow. They’ve had these moments before— bursts of affirmation, usually when talking about the future. They’ve promised each other these things before, and they’ll promise them again.

Nando has known for two years that he’s going to marry this boy. Tonight, in his warm room, with so much of Quinn’s world turning upside down, he somehow finds himself  _ more _ certain— even though he knew it before, without a doubt in his mind. Each day, he loves this boy a little more. Each day, he wants to keep him safe always, to never let him go.

The road ahead might be hard. Quinn might be facing a storm. But they’ve been through so much, and they’re at each other’s sides. Nando is going to be here, and he’s going to bring him home safe and sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for going on this angsty journey with me! Obviously, this does leave the story "unfinished," because I'm leaving you off in a position where they're about to have to do a lot of planning and processing— but don't worry, because the Kiersey story is always ongoing, and I reserve the right to tell any part of it at any given time. Thank you for reading!!!! <3<3<3

**Author's Note:**

> [Come hang out](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! The characters of Kiersey are very close to my heart. You can always ask for anything you'd like to see, or just shout at me— let's be friends!


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